Nightsounds

Past midnight hour, when most distractions die,
   An outlawed world's cacophony then blooms
   As if it were but myriad remnant fumes
From a blaze that charred the noise of the day gone by.
A brave new world of subtle sounds that rise
   And grow from one of night-time's many wombs;
   And before tomorrow sends them to their tombs,
They steadily claim their share of our skies.
Their discord fills the deepening moonlessness -
   Relentlessly their obscure haze now grows. 
     While i'm deprived of the barricade of sight
They rob me of repose - my ears fluoresce.
   For their being does so blatantly expose
     The hoax that is the silence of the night.